


First Flower

by brazenfaced



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Angst, But in My Head it's Angst with a Happy Ending because I Have Not Read Alecto the Ninth Yet, F/F, Gen, Retelling the Battle with Cytherea from Harrowhark's POV, The People's Tomb Fic Jam: Pride, it's just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenfaced/pseuds/brazenfaced
Summary: "The hard shine of it and the suppressed agony of triumph in the back of Gideon's head made her eyes water, and she was filled with a weird pride that was all her own. Holy shit. Perpetual bone. Harrow had actually cracked it.She was too busy admiring her necromancer to catch the thick rope of vertebrae that looped around her waist and cinched tight."Gideon is proud of Harrowhark. She's too busy fighting off a 10,000 year old murderous bone wizard to realize that Harrowhark is proud of her, too.A retelling of chapter 36 of Gideon the Ninth, from Harrow's point of view.
Relationships: Gideon Nav & Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	First Flower

"Harrow, go get my two-hander, it's in the false bottom of my trunk," Gideon had said, and then ignored Harrowhark's protests and sprinted off in pursuit of Palamedes Sextus, leaving Harrow with the Sixth cavalier. Although she had come to trust Camilla Hect, Harrow was discomfitingly aware of how poorly things had gone the last time she and Gideon had split up. She dragged Camilla down the corridors of Canaan House as quickly as she reasonably could, in the direction of the Ninth's quarters.

Camilla raised an eyebrow at the sight of Gideon's bed, the traditional cavalier cot at the base of Harrow's own -- clearly recently slept in, now that Gideon had decided she no longer needed to be as far away from Harrow as possible at all times -- and Harrow experienced a sudden desire to hide the space she shared with Gideon from outside eyes, to turn Camilla away from their rooms, as if the knowing gaze of another would be enough to damage the fragile understanding that had developed between Harrow and her cavalier. But there was no time for that now, not when five people had already died today and Gideon was somewhere in this decaying hulk of a building without her necromancer. 

Harrow dragged Gideon's trunk on its side and unceremoniously shook its black garments onto the floor. Lo and behold -- there was a false bottom in the trunk, wooden slats bored rather shoddily into the sides to conceal a few inches of space. Gideon had clearly done this by hand.

"Here, Hect. Help me with this." Harrow began yanking at the slats. It took precious minutes to reveal the ridiculous longsword Gideon had kept strapped to herself like some third arm since the moment Aiglamene had placed it in her hands. Harrow cursed that she had been so preoccupied with the mysteries of Canaan House that she had completely missed the three and a half feet of deadly steel hidden at the foot of her bed. Beside the sword in the bottom of the chest was a stack of pornographic magazines. Camilla snorted. 

"Short on reading material on the Ninth?" 

Short on taste, Harrow almost said, because she agreed with her -- but she rolled her eyes and hefted the sword up. Pausing only to shove a few handfuls of knucklebones in her pockets, she said, "let's go." 

Camilla eyed the two-hander. "Quite the weapon."

"You have no idea," Harrow said. Griddle with this sword -- the mysterious dangers of Canaan House had no idea what was coming for them.

The rumble of a distant explosion shook past them, dust floating down from above. Their eyes met.

Without another word, they both turned and ran.

***

Camilla reached the atrium before Harrow did, her blades already flashing in her hands. The scene as Harrow came upon it didn't make any sense. The necromancer of the Seventh House -- bedridden, fragile, weak Dulcinea Septimus -- was engaged with the Sixth, fending off Camilla's lightning blows as nimbly as a dancer. She was soaked with blood, batting Camilla's blades away with sharp spikes of bone that appeared to have grown straight from her hands and arms. Harrow allowed herself to feel only a very brief moment of vindication as she took in what she was seeing. She was -- never -- jealous. With a quick step, Camilla slammed her forehead into her opponent's face, and then without warning seized and went limp. She was being siphoned.

Harrow went for her knucklebones. She called up a host of constructs, as sturdy as she could make them, and sent them crashing at the necromancer who was clearly more than a necromancer.

There was Gideon, circling the dueling pair. 

"Leave it!" Harrow barked at her cavalier. She was filled with all the calm righteous fury of a reaping angel as she descended and passed the two-hander to Gideon. 

Harrow's conjured skeletons did not hold back the violence for long. An explosion rang out, and from a brand new hole in the floor emerged Septimus -- followed by the largest bone construct Harrowhark had ever seen.

It really was a thing of beauty. Stacked like some monstrous, many-layered cake, struts of shiny white-grey perpetual bone grinding around each other, it arched high above her head. Harrow half wanted to touch it, just lay a palm against one trunk-like leg. Her view of it was shadowed as Gideon planted herself in front of her. 

And God, was Gideon a vision, too. The two-hander was back in its rightful place, square fingers comfortable around the handle, black robes thrown over shoulders, and Gideon looked like all the terror of the Ninth. She said, with a hint of desperation in her voice: "I'm not running, Harrow!" 

No. "Of course we're not running," Harrow said, lip curling. "I have you. We bring hell." 

"Harrow--Harrow, Dulcinea's a Lyctor, a real one--" 

That clarified things, but Harrow was flooded with adrenaline, endorphins pumping through her veins, and she wasn't turning away from the grotesque shape above them. "Then we're all dead, Nav, but let's bring hell first," and Harrow couldn't help but smile, at the absurdity of the danger they were facing, at the inexplicable surge of confidence she felt knowing Gideon was beside her, fighting with her. And Gideon was smiling back at her, a fierce, teeth-bared grin. It was -- genuine. Gideon had never smiled at Harrow like that, Harrow didn't know if Gideon had ever smiled like that, not where Harrowhark could see. For an instant Harrow forgot their surroundings and just stared at the face in front of her.

Then Gideon was whirling around and smashing through bone.

***

Harrow didn't think she had known true joy until right now, fighting next to Gideon. The emotion was a tickle in her throat that might have turned into laughter had Harrow not been breathing so hard. Here was her necromancy, osseous matter flying as she constructed and deconstructed and thrilled at the challenge. Here was Gideon, all muscle and steel, crushing and thrashing and ducking and cutting. And it was just -- they were together. They were doing this together. Harrow had never been together with anyone before, not in any way that was meaningful.

Then Harrow was inside Gideon, as they had done back in Laboratory Two, before this mess truly began. She could feel Gideon's grip tightening as she hefted the sword, the shift of muscles and roll of sweat. Harrow knew what they needed to do. She nudged Gideon with her mind. She reviewed everything she had ever learned about bones. She focused very hard and -- yes -- her next construct emerged grey and gleaming. Perpetual bone! Pure exaltation bubbled up inside her. 

There was a tightening around her -- Gideon's -- waist. Without warning, Harrow was flung back into her own body, feeling the toll of her necromancy all at once as she crumpled to the ground. Without consciously thinking about it Harrow reached for Gideon with her skeletons, interrupting her cavalier's involuntary flight through the air courtesy of the hideous construct. Gideon smacked down next to Harrow with a garbled yelp.

"Did you see me?" Harrow mumbled at Gideon. It seemed very important that the answer be yes. "Did you behold me, Griddle?"

Throbbing exhaustion and the taste of metallic red overcame Harrow before she could receive an answer. Her eyes rolled back and she let the triumphant dark claim her.

***

When Harrow woke up, the joy and pride had abandoned her. In their place they had left a shaky panic that shredded through her mind as she tried to gather her thoughts. Someone had moved her, and she now lay shadowed against the ruins of a wall on a Canaan House terrace. Camilla was half-collapsed next to her, staring the other direction. Harrow must have made some involuntary noise, because the Sixth cavalier primary turned to her. She looked like hell.

"Hey," was all Camilla said.

"Hect," Harrow choked out, and then coughed, swallowing some blood. She tried again. "What-" But Harrow stopped once more, because she had seen the answer to her formless question. Camilla turned back to look with her. 

It was the Lyctor. "Cytherea," Camilla supplied. The blood and sweat of battle had not touched Cytherea; in fact, she looked better than when Harrow had first stepped into the atrium, perhaps better than Harrow had ever seen her. There was no mistaking the strength in her thin arms or the effortless expertise behind the thrusts of her rapier. Even Cytherea's bedsheet of a dress gleamed spotless. She was a Lyctor, a 10,000-year-old Lyctor, and for the first time Harrow truly comprehended the way this encounter was likely to end.

And whaling on Cytherea the First was -- Gideon. 

Gideon -- Gideon was Gideon. There was something wrong with one of her knees, but she still dodged Cytherea's blows quicker than Harrow had moved at any point in her life. The two-hander was nearly as long as Harrow was tall, but Gideon swung it, as she always had, as if it were light as air. Gideon's horrible orange hair was matted with blood and bone dust but shone anyway like a beacon.

Cytherea slid her rapier smoothly through one of Gideon's humeri. 

A kind of astonished pride welled up within Harrow, slipping through the panic and exhaustion that had overtaken her. As she watched her cavalier primary, injured and hopeless and brave, lift her blade once more, she thought of her House, the unending Ninth. Somewhere back in Drearbruh, there were the bodies of her parents, the slightly less dead bodies of Aiglamene and Crux. There were her horrible aunts, and all of her parishioners, rotting slowly in the dark. The Locked Tomb was so many miles of empty space away. But as Gideon thrust her sword forward one more impossible time -- black robes in tatters, skull makeup smeared grey and undefined -- Harrowhark Nonagesimus was forced to acknowledge that the beating heart of the Ninth was right there in front of her.

***

It was dark inside the thick shell of bone Harrow had erected around them. She was barely aware of her surroundings. In the same moment that she won her battle to remain conscious, for the time being, she lost her battle to remain upright, and tumbled into Gideon's waiting arms.

Gideon -- she had to get Gideon out of here. Gideon had promised her she would return to the Ninth. The Ninth -- even without its Reverend Daughter -- could be whole once more. She said to Gideon, "I'll distract her as long as possible: all you have to do is live." 

"Harrow," said Gideon. "This plan is stupid, and you're stupid. No." 

"Griddle," Harrow struggled to breathe through the blood that was everywhere. "You made me a promise."

"Don't do this to me," said Gideon, pathetic.

"I owe you your life," Harrow almost cried. "I owe you everything." She could not understand why Gideon wouldn't just accept this -- this one good thing that Harrow would ever have the chance to do. All the times she had hurt Gideon, abused her, delighted in Gideon's misery. Despite it all, Gideon was here with her, strong and gentle and kind and good. Gideon had to make it out of this, else Harrow finally succeed at destroying the one person she had thus far been unable to. Gideon was cradling Harrow's head so gently. Harrow wondered not for the first time where those calloused hands had learned such a tender touch.

Everything went grey for a moment as Harrow struggled to hold the shield of bone steady around them. With more effort than she was truly capable of, Harrow lifted a hand to touch Gideon's cheek. She was insensate to everything but Gideon Nav's yellow eyes.

"Nav," she said, "have you really forgiven me?"

Gideon's face was doing something strange. "Of course I have, you bozo."

It was impossible that such a thing was true, and yet somehow it was. Despite everything, the blood running down the back of her throat and the pounding against the shell above their heads and the knowledge that she was very soon going to die, Harrow felt incomparably light.

Gideon's face was going even stranger. Harrow stared at it, uncomprehending. Thoughts were coming very slowly now. "Harrow-" said Gideon, "you know I don't give a damn about the Locked Tomb, right? You know I only care about you." She paused. "I'm no good at this duty thing. I'm just me. I can't do this without you. And I'm not your real cavalier primary, I never could've been."

Either Harrow was so senseless that she was now misunderstanding speech, or Gideon Nav was truly stupider than she had always thought. "Gideon the Ninth, first flower of my House," she said, choking a bit. "You are the greatest cavalier we have ever produced. You are our triumph. The best of all of us. It has been my privilege to be your necromancer." Wasn't it obvious?

Now, suddenly -- Gideon was up and pacing. Harrow's arms struggled to take her weight where Gideon had been supporting her. Everything was a bit blurry, the edges of her vision pulsing black.

Harrow was going to let Gideon down one last time. "Nav, I can't hold this for -- much longer."

Gideon seemed agitated. She was muttering something; her cheeks were wet. From some yet untapped well of deeper emotion, a vague dread oozed up Harrow's spine. "Harrow," Gideon blurted. I can't keep my promise. Harrow did not like what Gideon was saying. One flesh, one end.

"What are you doing?" Harrow's brain was so idiotically slow.

"You'll know what to do," Gideon assured her. She turned away and Harrow suddenly realized -- and Gideon was falling --

Harrow sucked in an abrupt, yelping gasp, and grabbed -- she grabbed at Gideon. Her arms were too weak, her body unforgivably failing to propel her across the cracked cement. She grabbed the only way she could -- and there was Gideon she had Gideon --

***

Harrowhark Nonagesimus was screaming.

**Author's Note:**

> From the bottom of my heart. I am so sorry
> 
> This is the first fic I have ever posted on the internet! Please leave me a comment!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @brazen-faced -- we can cry about these books together.


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